Unidealistic Excellency
by Boudicca of Green
Summary: For the Rumbelle Secret Santa exchange. Prompt: This wonderful, less than perfect thing.- Rumpelstiltskin muses over Happily Ever After, new beginnings and the price of love during the coldest day Storybrooke had seen since the curse break.


A foul wind had swept into Storybrooke. Most winds in beginnings like these generally are, but when The Curse defines the parameters of a location's existence, it becomes less cliché and more matter of fact. Winds must automatically become foul, clouds are always ominous and the crashing of waves _does_ carry the sound of battles or the cries of children or what have you. Quite silly really, once you get over the bleakness of it all.

Cold seasons in a town on the east coast were never truly pleasant to begin with. Sea breezes were refreshing on a sweltering summer's day, but then, Storybrooke Maine had never seen a summer's day, sweltering or no. The cold was wet and invasive and easily seeped through long coats and under scarves on slicing updrafts, and the rains would bring a chill that would settle in just inside and under the shoulder blades and not go away no matter how much hot chocolate was drunk.

Any new comer to Storybrooke would be able to say with confidence and a bit of surprise that the weather seemed ten times worse than the rest of Maine or the Eastern Seaboard and fit rather well with Dante's description of the Ninth Circle. Perhaps it was the Curse; perhaps it was an unfortunate geological location choice on behalf of the Queen (always dressed in her thickest finery, of course. It would do no good to be uncomfortable in her own happy ending). Either way, the residents of the no longer enchanted little hamlet had to deal with plenty of dreary unpleasant weather most of the 365 days out of the year.

From the surprisingly well heated safety of his shop, Rumpelstiltskin paused in his careful removal of green scum from a tarnished, golden ball and watched the world outside blow by in a series of used plastic bags, unsecured furniture and loose road grime. He idly wondered if he should just close the shop and head home to enjoy his time in the relative comfort of his bastion with a hot toddy and the book Belle had lent him with the blueprints of the underground he had asked her to find for him (there were several old dragons that had been brought to Storybrooke, if the minor tremors and muted roars coming from the sewage grates were anything to go by. Wouldn't do to have them break loose if they decided to make known their frustrations with the Queen with a burst of fire to her face and the general surroundings).

As pleasant as that sounded to him, he was to be a business man today. He would stand at his sentry waiting with his trinkets and baubles until closing time came. That in mind he set aside the brush he was using to clean off the ball and replaced it with a polishing cloth.

Besides, if anyone _did_ need him because they'd made another fumbling mistake that needed to be solved by his _talents_, as per usual, or accuse him of releasing Old Woman Pender's blind donkey into the forest again it'd be better if he were at his shop and easy to reach than being bothered at his home.

Of course there was also the fact that the Library was an easy jaunt down the street and he could usually catch a glimpse of Belle when she closed up around the same time as the pawn shop did.

The corner of Rumpelstiltskin's lip twitched upward unbidden at the thought of her, his hand steady in its rhythmic motions over the smudges on the surface of the gaudy toy. He returned his focus to the item in his hands and the main reason he was at the shop today. The owner of the object was in more dire straits as he was at the moment, a seeming feat in and of itself. He'd had nothing to do with her tale directly (well, he may have some recollections of dropping the curse onto the buttocks of a passing wasp that had stung the royal), but she had come close to calling on him for help in removing her unwanted, amphibian suitor. She had broken down and succumbed to the prince's persistent advances, much to her parents' relief, before she could do so.

Rumpelstiltskin had seen the prince in question eyeing the ball currently in his hands a few weeks ago, and had sensed that today would be the day he'd come to collect it. Something to remind his former wife, who was currently enjoying the freedom offered to her in this new land by roaming around in pants and dyed hair and dating another man, of their relationship and hopefully win her affections back. Rumpelstiltskin didn't see that ending too well; the princess seemed quite happy with her independence and seemed more interested in her current boyfriend than the reedy, passive aggressive man she'd been tied to for years.

But Rumpelstiltskin wasn't one to try and stop the juggernaut of True Love. After all, he counted himself damned lucky each and every time Belle even looked at him happily. So he'd let the prince have a fighting chance at 'Twu Wuv's' prevalence, even though he secretly knew that the most to come out of this transaction would be the prince and The Boyfriend coming to blows in the square and the princess leaving them both behind in a cloud of dust as she drove away on her motorcycle.

Belle had teasingly called him her boyfriend on several occasions; if only to see him shift his weight uncomfortably (she called it squirming. He did _not_ 'squirm'). He could never bring himself to refer to Belle as his _girlfriend_; sweetheart, dear, darling (_lover_), but not girlfriend. The title sat poorly on her, in his mind. Too young and fresh for what Rumpelstiltskin and Belle were to each other. It implied an easy slip and slide in fitting together that couldn't be applied to them, old and jaded as they were. "Boyfriend" and "Girlfriend" was for young infatuation that carried a light, expandable tether to connect them, not a double lined cord made for wear and strain and an even space to learn.

He put aside the cloth and looked at his reflection in the newly shined surface of the ball. He tilted his head to the side for a moment and touched the lined corner of his mouth where Belle had boldly pressed her finger not three nights ago. A soft smile creased her gently rounded face at one of his laughs that were coming far more easily now.

_"Not quite so sad anymore," _she'd declared happily.

It was true, he could see, even with his reflection warped outwards in the spherical surface. Not quite so sad at all.

The sound of a woman's cry following the crest in a powerful gale that rattled his windows shook him from his reverie. His mouth dropped a bit in surprise as his true love came skittering across the street like a gangly legged foal and slammed bodily into the front window, her second yelp of surprise audible over the wind. He was rather proud that his heart was decidedly _not_ in his throat, and he calmly did not stagger from behind the counter towards the front of the shop right as Belle twisted herself against the next big gale towards the door. He had it open with a flick of his wrist before she could grapple with the handle to let herself in.

Rum noticed that she tottered less than normal when she hurried into the shop and was pleased to find that she had not braved the streets in the heels she was so fond of, instead opting for a pair of sensible (albeit hideous) boots. He tried for a smile as he gently gripped her arm to steady her, but it felt more like a grimace. Words would not come to him easily in situations like this, at least not the right ones. It baffled him, sometimes, when his tongue would deaden in his mouth at the very sight of her. Having the heat of her in his arms would reduce him to a silly, mumbling fool.

"Alright there?" Good, he sounded amused. Not panicked. Not _completely_ besotted. Only a bit.

When she looked him in the eye with a wry smile pulling up her lips he felt his old heart sputter against his ribs.

"Why, yes thank you," she said with that familiar tilt of her head and pull to her red mouth and suddenly he was a thousand miles back in his castle and everything was roses.

She took a moment to collect herself; hands pushing at the wild mass of curls the wind had left her with in an attempt to regain some modicum of dignity through appearance. Rumpelstiltskin carefully reached out to remove her scarf where it had come undone in the struggle with the wind. He smoothed out some of the wrinkles in her lapel with fondness as he looked her over for any damage. Aside from being adorably windblown, her cheeks and nose were a worrying shade of red, though they didn't appear raw enough to be chaffed.

His lips pursed against the automatic reprimand on her not wearing her scarf properly. Belle could look after herself and as much as he worried over her and her wellbeing he could not and would not treat her like a child. Belle hated when he fussed and treated her like she was spun from downy, had said as much at the beginning of their innocent and tentative trysting.

He would not condescend to her, but he would offer to apply Vaseline to the red spots before she left again. She spoke to him while she shrugged out of her layers.

"Thank you for getting the door, I was afraid I'd have to wrestle with it. I haven't exactly had the best luck with them today. The front door to the Library was tricky to close; the wind caught it when I opened it and had it pinned to the wall. I'm just lucky that the glass didn't break in the crash,"

He winces at that, but doesn't say what immediately comes to mind and hangs her jacket on the coat rack in the corner when she offers it to him.

"So what sent you out in this weather in the first place? You know I would've been more than happy to pick you up,"

She began to carefully arrange her mussed hair into a loose braid while she recounted her story.

"Well, I was in the middle of arranging some catalogues in the back room when I had an idea. Remember that collection of old books you have in the back? Well, you aren't planning on selling them, they're just gathering dust- which is an absolute shame by the way, and I won't stand for it."

She crosses her arms against her chest and raises a brow in mock seriousness.

"I hear the librarian has been promising free tea and confections to people who donate their used books and I thought I could convince you to see the error of your negligence and do a public service."

Half of his mouth twitches up into a helpless smile. "Did you, now? That confident in your powers of persuasion, sweetheart?"

She scrunches her nose at him.

"Why, yes. I seem to have a way with stubborn, silly grumps. I thought if I could look you in the eye you'd fold a lot faster than if I'd used the noisy wall ringer with the funny tail."

She sniffs daintily at that, ignoring the truth that she had the telephone pulled down a few days ago after the incessant ringing had addled her last nerve.

"Besides," she continued airily, "I didn't think you'd have an easy time walking to meet me in this weather. You're so thin I was afraid you'd blow away, and I can't give you any more excuses for getting out of our dates."

Her smile is warm when she meets his eyes, and he counts his blessings that even after all this time she can look at him with eyes like that, see him for who he is and still worry about him and tease the monster. Rumpelstiltskin gently brushes a strand of hair from her eyes, and he's certain he's smiling like a fool and that she'll tease him about it later, but she's preening under the touch and he isn't afraid to be sentimental when the time allows for it.

He doesn't mention that he would have had a far easier time getting there with a bit of magic as a buffer, but he's trying not to seem too dependent on it, for her.

"Well," he says instead, "you've completely nullified me. I haven't a hope of denying you when you put it like that,"

She purses her mouth in a happy smile and loops her arm with his.

"Of course you didn't. Now, Rumpelstiltskin, take me to the back and let me at those poor dears you have held captive in the shelves,"

He bows his head to her in a show of acquiescence.

"Right away, milady. I only ask that you stay until this weather dies down. You're no more impervious to the wind than a grumpy, old man with a cane,"

She twists her mouth in a moue of thought, but her laughing eyes give her away.

"Well, I suppose it's the logical thing to do. I trust you'll not hold me captive with the rest of your dusty boon?"

He nods at her in seriousness that isn't quiet ingenuous. "Wouldn't dream of it, daring. Shall I put the kettle on while you wait?"

She gathers his arm in both of hers and leans in to his side.

"That would be lovely,"

He'll never shirk from offering her any ounce of courtesy or chivalry, she isn't offended by that. If he pushed the matter, it'd be another story. The golden ball on the counter catches his eye and he thinks back on the prince. He smiles lightly at the man's hubris. Just because happy endings are possible now doesn't mean that compromise and hard work aren't necessary. Relying on history wouldn't make the course of True Love run smoothly when it had been lost or damaged, and that he can recognize that when an actual prince of the realms could not fills him with the sense that he's finally working towards deserving his happy ending and the untouchable woman on his arm.

He limpingly escorts her to the back room with her talking a mile a minute the entire way. He can smile at her nearness with the pleasure of knowing that he's earned these moments and this easiness between them. They weren't completely perfect, they might never be, but while he still had her smiles and her time and she had a good grip on his heart, he knew it was working towards, in her words, absolutely wonderful.


End file.
